


Space brothers

by mercury_wings



Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 01:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercury_wings/pseuds/mercury_wings
Summary: Little Langris and big emotions do not work well together.>>a trip down memory lane, exploring what happened to the kid with an elf in his head, a brother he wishes he could forget, and too much magic to handle it all.





	Space brothers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm waiting for the space bros reunion ( Tabata-sensei please )": ) so here's my take on the wonderful life of Langris because it has too much angst potential to be left aside

The first thing Langris notices when he comes to the dining room is that his brother is missing.

  
Nobody else but him seems to pick up that fact, and both his parents greet him formally like they always did on mornings. Nobody asks him how he slept, and nobody asks where Finral is.

  
Langris finds it bizarre. Unsettling. He sits down at his usual place, allowing himself the smallest glance to the empty chair next to him.

  
Finral's place hadn't even been readied, he realizes. There is no plate, no glass, no cutlery; just a folded napkin. He picks it up, noticing it's his, and the little corner that belonged to his brother now is empty.  
A blotch of wood. Not even covered by the tablecloth.

  
Everyone starts eating, as usual. His mother starting with marmalade, as she always did, and his father asking for the water. Everyone is speaking normally, eating normally, and Langris feels out of place. As if Finral had suddenly disappeared from everyone's memory except his. He doesn’t like it.

  
But at the same time, he doesn't want to ask his parents. Anytime he spoke of his brother, they told him to forget him. Stop paying attention to him. It was the only order he had to disobey, because even if Finral didn’t seem to see it, his little brother kept on defending him, even a little bit, in front of their parents.

  
He remembers that time he saved that idiot from a good beating by explaining he had done the deed in order to help Langris' studying. It was a lie, obviously, but his parents had immediately believed the little obedient child.

  
Maybe if he asks about Finral quickly, goes to fetch him without anyone noticing, he could lessen the consequences of his lateness. But his plate wasn't there either; was he sick ?

  
Curiosity takes over his manners.

  
“Mother, father ?” he asks, voice loud and confident as always. They both look up from their plates, everyone goes silent, listening. He takes a deep breath at the pressure, then goes on. “Do you per chance know where my brother is ?”

  
Everyone goes even more silent, if that was possible. Langris' blood runs cold; this was the kind of atmosphere preceding a good correction, but he hadn't said anything bad, had he ? His mother's eyes are set ablaze, a mix of anger and... no, there was no sorrow in there.

  
“Your brother isn’t coming to eat today. In fact, he isn't coming to eat ever again.” She says, in the most venomous voice she has ever used. Langris opens his mouth, then closes it, suddenly feeling ridiculously small.

  
“W-what do you mean ? Father ?” he stutters—he never stuttered—directing his gaze to his father in the hope of a better explanation. Finral wasn't mother's child, but he was father's son.

  
But the head of the Vaude family doesn't look calmer. In fact, his voice feels significantly icier, freezing the small child on spot. “Finral has left our family. He isn't your brother anymore.” His eyes narrow into slits. “I never want to hear about that bastard ever again.”

  
Langris isn't hungry anymore. The empty place next to him starts to grow, englobing him entirely into an icy grip. He tries to breathe, realizes he can’t—”What does that mean ?” he manages to squeak out, brain too frozen to make up a good sentence.

  
Finral wasn't his brother anymore ? That made no sense. They had the same father, the same family name, the same hair colour, the same kind of eyebrows, and the same nose. They were brothers, it was obvious. Finral couldn't just leave.

  
His mother slams her palms on the table before he can articulate a thought, and he jerks backwards in fear. He doesn't want to be hit, so he bows his head down, avoids eye contact.

  
“Haven't you understood ?!” she screams, it's too loud, he can't breathe—”HE IS NOT YOUR BROTHER ANYMORE ! HE IS GONE ! GONE !”

  
It takes him a split second to notice that his cheeks are wet, another split second for the words to echo in his chest and leave the most painful wound he had ever felt, and a last one to spring to his feet and fall backwards. His back hurts now, he's scared, his mother is screaming about Finral, and he needs to get out of here right now—the mana in him is going wild—it hurts—

  
Langris runs.

  
It's inappropriate, he isn't allowed to run in the house, but his entire body is crackling with mana, and when a guard tries to grab him—

  
It explodes.

  
Finral isn't here to stop him, Finral isn't here to calm him down, Finral isn't here to tell him it's fine, Finral _isn't here_—

  
There's blood on his face. There's blood in his eyes, and blood in his mouth, and there are too many feelings in his head and the scent and the taste are overwhelming and his mother is still screaming and Finral _still_ isn't _here_ and—

  
His body jerks up, in an attempt to shake off everything and make him stop feeling.

  
It's not working.

  
Only Finral knew how to calm him down. Only Finral knew what to tell him, how to hold his hands, how to wrap his arms around him and gently rub circles on his back. Langris only calmed down once his nose was fully buried in his brother’s (he refuses to call him otherwise) shoulder, and all he could hear was the rhythmic heartbeat and all he could feel was the soft cloth and the gentle breathing.

  
“It wasn't so hard, see ?” his big brother would say, pink eyes smiling. “This is your magic. And you're strong, you can control it perfectly.” Then he'd help him up, not letting his hand go, and steady him.

  
Finral would stay with him even if he had other things to do because otherwise he knew Langris could definitely destroy the entire manor in a matter of seconds if he was really upset.

  
It doesn't make sense. Finral wouldn't leave like this. Finral loved his brother, and he wouldn't leave him alone like this.

  
Langris has to ease the bile raising in his throat. He has to do something about the guards screaming around him, has to do something about the enormous gash that was growing beneath his feet. He was strong, Finral had said it, and he had full control over his powers.

  
He takes a deep breath. Puts his hands over his ears and taps them, in the same speed of his brother's heartbeat. He tries to believe, he has to believe that Finral is still here, that he never left.

  
Suddenly, his mother starts shouting, and so does his father, and the bile rises up again—Finral was gone. He was gone.

  
The bile in his throat rises up again. He feels his magic creep up from the bottom of his stomach and all the way up to his fingertips, and his head feels all lopsided. Mana shoots up and pushes everything around him away, far far away, trying to cancel all the noises, and all the pain, and all the fear, and—

  
He throws up.

  
His stomach curls up on itself, his throat burns, he is on fire, and at the same time a terrifying amount of mana flies off—he feels the floor beneath him crack, and people scream in terror—but he is not here anymore. His eyes are blind, his head underwater, he can’t breathe, he is suffocating, he's all alone.

  
Once his stomach is entirely empty, and he is left gagging on spit and angry bile, he gasps on air, closing and opening his mouth like a doomed fish on the ground. Nobody was here to put him back to water, his face is wet with tears and frozen sweat, and people around him are either scared or dead.

  
Langris is tired. Exhaustion, loss of mana, everything hits him at once and he collapses on the broken floor. A few pieces of wood stick here and there around or in his body, but he can't move. The taste in his mouth is disgusting, he has made a fool of himself, and his parents were definitely going to punish him for this.

  
Without Finral, he was an unhinged monster.

  
And it hurt.

-

_“So you take the bulb like that—no, no, more delicately !”_

  
_“I am holding it delicately !”_

  
_Finral laughs at his brother’s disgruntled face when he shakes the tulip bulb in front of his face. He is holding it gingerly, fingers pinched on top and his second hand supporting the base. He huffs, glaring at the poor plant as if it was his worse enemy. _

  
_“I don't get it.” Langris mumbles, eyebrows drawn to the centre of his face. “I'm doing it exactly as you are. Why is it wrong ?”_

  
_The eldest Vaude extends his hands and gently wraps them over his little brother's, delicately pushing the fingers apart to grab the bulb and reposition it in the small palm. “I'll push the dirt, and you put it in, okay ?”_

  
_“Fine.” Finral snorts at the smaller one's angry tone. He knew he was happy, very deep inside. This was better than sitting around writing poetry commentaries all day._

  
_With expert fingers, he pulls dirt out of the place they had chosen, and smoothens the edges to make a conveniently shaped hole. “Does that look good ?” he asks softly, pointing at it._

  
_Langris' eyes narrow. “It's a little too oval. Make it rounder.”_

  
_This time Finral doesn't laugh, only smiles. His brother liked things perfect. So he uses his index only, trailing it around the top of the dirt, to even it up. He looks up, and his brother nods, extending the bulb._

  
_He pauses. Then, his nose scrunches up in embarrassment. _

  
_“Can you help me ?” _

  
_Langris' voice is quiet, shy even. Asking help wasn't something he did often. And Finral knew how hard it was for him to admit a weakness, especially with their parents refusing to allow any. As carefully as he can, he puts his hands around the bulb too, guiding it to the place. _

  
_He moves slowly, allowing his brother to get used to the contact, and helps him position it well in the circle. Once it's perfectly straight, as Langris liked it to be, Finral curls his fingers up. “You can let it go.”_

  
_The smaller brother hesitates. He lingers, little hands safely around the soon to be flower, then lets go meekly. Finral pulls him up, straightening his sitting position, then pushes dirt over the bulb. Langris looks a little longer at the pile of dirt, then gets up._

  
_Seeing him gesture to leave, Finral feels something cold in his throat. Was he just going to leave without a word ? Did he really not enjoy himself ?_

  
_“Let's get other bulbs.” The smaller one says suddenly. “I want to plant more tulips.” He pauses, looking ashamed of himself. “I think they're pretty.”_

  
_Finral smiles, half sorrowfully by how Langris looked like he was doing something wrong, and half happily at the fact he wanted to do more things with his big brother._

  
_“I didn't know you liked tulips.” He answers instead of speaking all his other thoughts, getting up. “Let's plant more.”_

-

Langris isn't allowed out of his confined room for a week.

  
It's not his bedroom, it's far from being something he owns. It's a room, that looks like one of the many other rooms in Vaude Manor, except it is protected by a very powerful spell that prevents people in it from using their magic in it.

  
Mother and father had decided to leave him there after his outburst, and Langris half hoped his brother would convince them to get him out of it. But he had destroyed the dining room, and killed many guards—this was the worst incident so far.

  
Finral hadn't come to visit like he used to. He often came while he was locked up. He'd tap on the window, and wave, and Langris would wave back.  
They couldn't talk to each other. For safety measures, the room was soundproof.

  
Finral had tried to teleport in it once, but he just kept on hitting the door instead of getting inside, so he had given up. He usually sat down on the other side of the door, and stayed there. Langris could feel his mana without really being able of touching it. Like a phantom feeling. He tried to use his magic, reach out, touch the emerald aura, feel the warmth—

  
But he was desperately alone.

  
In the silence of the room, he sits on the floor. There is a chair, a bed, a little table (they brought his meals inside, as if he was some sort of prisoner), but he prefers to sit on the carpet.

  
It's not especially comfortable, and Langris would rather be in his bedroom, but it's enough right now.

He's thinking.

  
He hadn't seen Finral, nor had he felt his mana during the entire week. It was a strange feeling—as if he had forgotten to do something, and then had forgotten what he had forgotten to do, and was now thinking hard about what he had forgotten.

  
He wanted to get out of the room. It was bigger than his own bedroom, or maybe it wasn't—it was just empty, and maybe therefore felt bigger. He glares at the door as if he could open with his magic.

  
But his magic isn't answering. Langris knows the feeling, this is not the first time he is locked here, but this time it feels more unsettling than usual. He was upset, and yet nothing came out.

  
Unlike one week ago, when he started crying at breakfast because his brother was gone and—

  
There it is.

  
The feeling that something is blocked halfway through his throat. It's not his cries, he's sobbing, he knows that because his chest is shivering up and down and his eyes are burning with scalding hot tears. It's something else, suppressed by the heavy atmosphere pressing on every single part of his body, choking him.

  
It's not the absence of magic that hurts anymore. He can feel the spell his father had casted long ago, with the help of all the guards, he can feel it forcing its way down his throat, and into his body like sticky tar.  
Langris can feel his mana. It's suddenly back, pulling all his strength; wailing. It is sentient, it hurts as much as he does, and it's screaming a single word.

  
_Lies_.

  
Everyone were telling lies. They were locking him up—they didn't want him to see Finral. His mother always said he had a bad influence on him. She said he would be better off without him, she said they would all be better off without him.

  
Maybe she had killed him.

  
His magic is roaring now, screaming, making the corners of his vision go black. Every single muscle suddenly snaps, and Langris hears a loud noise.

  
Something had just broken.

  
He opens his eyes; meets a shining line in front of him. He extends his hands.

  
He was going to see Finral.

  
He forces his fingers in the slit, just like his brother used to force his fingers in the cold ground to add good dirt for the flowers, and pulls the corners.

  
His entire body shakes.

  
The entire room shakes.

  
And rips.

  
Space rips, right in front of him, tearing up between his fingers, opening a portal out. Out of the room.  
The spell is still trying to hold him down, he realizes. His muscles will give up soon if he doesn't move. But where did the portal lead ?

  
That wasn't important right now.

  
He forces his body upright, jumping in the purple door that cracks closed right when he falls on the other side.

He keeps his eyes closed, breathing properly for the first time in a week. The air is pure, is tasty—Langris finds himself taking enormous gasps to fill his lungs.  
Once he stops feeling so lightheaded, he opens his eyes tentatively.

  
And meets a familiar ceiling.

  
This was Finral's room.

  
If there was somewhere he was sure to find his brother, it was his bedroom. He quickly pushes himself up, ignoring the wincing muscles, and looks around himself.

  
“Nii-san ?” he calls out once. Then again. Then again. The bedroom was neat and tidy, as if Finral was just gone outside for a bit and was going to come back in a second.

  
So Langris sits down on the bed, making himself comfortable. Once Finral came back, he was in trouble.

  
He thinks about what he was going to tell him. “Where were you ?!”—”What were you doing ?”—”You idiot look what happens when you're not around”—scratch that last one, it sounded like he needed Finral.

  
He didn't _need_ Finral. He just...

  
He feels bashful even thinking about it.

  
He liked his brother.

It doesn't take long for his parents to realize that he isn't in the confinement room anymore.  
He hears them calling for him, and in fear, slides beneath his brother's bed. He couldn't be caught now. He'd make up an excuse, but he’d do that after confronting his idiotic brother.

  
Langris listens to the footsteps, his mother's screams, and feels oddly safe under the bed, in the warm darkness. Him and Finral used to hide there sometimes—it had obviously been the latter's idea, since he often got into trouble, and their parents still hadn't noticed this was their hiding place.

  
He smiles to himself. He could even give a scare to Finral, if he timed his dramatic entrance well enough. He thinks about his brother's terrified face, then the gasp, and the laugh that stretched his lips on his face and made his eyes shine in an amused fashion.

  
Then, while wriggling under the bed, he feels a paper crinkle in his back. Langris blinks in the darkness, moving again to force his hand under his back and grasp at the paper.

  
He carefully pulls it out, rolling on his side. He wonder what it is—probably some dumb love letter Finral had written then forgotten because he felt too embarrassed to give it to the lady in question.

  
Langris feels devilish now. Reading it and using it as blackmail sounded like an excellent idea. He uses his feet to push himself out from beneath the bed, so he was sitting between it and the wall in front of him.  
With delicate fingers he turns the paper around, noticing it is a simple letter without wax; and curiously opens it. He pulls it out, unfolds it, and faces Finral's neat writing.

  
The paper was covered in light and tall letters, there was no doubt his brother had written it. His handwriting was peculiar—nobody had ever managed to reproduce it perfectly.

  
He starts reading with a smile, wondering what kind of embarrassing things he could pick up on his brother.

Halfway through the letter, he feels sick. His parents’ voices are getting louder, and he wants to throw up again, although he hadn't eaten anything yet.

  
He rips the paper in half, in a fit of anger, but immediately tries to put it back together. Langris doesn't like this icy feeling, forming a thick layer of something in his throat. His mana builds up again.

  
But this time, with the paper in his hand, Langris refuses to let it out. He can feel it, screaming in anger, in hate, in disgust—yet he refuses to destroy his brother's bedroom.

  
He holds his fists up, knuckles white, and barely unclenches one hand to open up a portal again. He was going back to the confinement room.

  
He didn't feel like doing anything else.

-

_Dear Langris,_

  
_If you're reading this, it probably means you got to hide from mother and father again. I hope you're doing alright !_

  
_I don't know for how long I'll be gone when you discover this. I just want you to know I am not abandoning you. I am just leaving because I am not welcome in the Vaude family. I think you understand that; you’re smart, you know what society thinks of bastard children._

  
_Besides, you're so much more powerful than I am. You will be ten times a better heir to the family than I was. You can do it Langris, I know you can._

  
_We will meet again, I promise. Meanwhile, try not to get into too much trouble, alright ?_

  
_I love you_

_Your big brother_

  
_Ps : if you ever search for me, use the family name Roulacase. I cannot come back, but you can always sneak out to see me :)_

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like it's ooc :"/


End file.
